Cake
by MissMelysse
Summary: Data and Zoe discuss the rituals surrounding wedding cakes. Partly an outtake and expansion of a scene in chapter 4 (Sarabande) of UNACCOMPANIED. Partly a glimpse into their future. CRUSHverse. Data/Zoe. One-shot.
**_Disclaimer:_** ** _Paramount/CBS owns the canon stuff, and I own the rest. Best enjoyed with a cup of coffee or tea and homemade snickerdoodles._**

 ** _Continuity Note:_** ** _The first half of this one-shot is both an outtake from and an expansion of the wedding scenes in chapter four of_** ** _UNACCOMPANIED: A Suite for Actress & Android_** **.** ** _The second half is a glimpse into Data & Zoe's future._**

* * *

 **Cake**

 _Half Moon Bay, California_

 _Earth_

 _Saturday, 5 October, 2368_

The wedding had gone off without a hitch. Our duet had gone smoothly despite the fact that I'd had to borrow a cello and cram in practice sessions in the last week leading up to the event, and I was pretty sure the only reporters present were from _Society Page_ – the contemporary counterpart of those old-school newspaper sections you always hear about in ancient vids or read about in period novels.

Mom had never looked happier, or more radiant, and I was glad she'd chosen to go civilian and wear a dress. The cream-colored silk and tea-length really suited her, and the chignon she'd twisted her hair into matched the dress and set off her collar bone.

(I kind of envied the graceful shape of my mother's collar bone.)

As for Ed… It's a rare man who doesn't look good in a tux, but he looked exceptionally dapper. His sons, Michel and Remy, ages sixteen and twelve, were perfect miniature duplicates. Together, the three of them looked sort of like those Russian nesting dolls, if they were male… and Gallic.

The pianist – because of course there was live music – gave a ching-a-ring, and we watched as the cake table was moved to the center of the dance floor. I'd seen the groom's cake earlier and had enjoyed a private giggle at the depiction – in sponge and fondant – of Bogart the Labrador with his head resting on a stack of books. The actual wedding cake, however, had been kept hidden even from me, the bride's daughter and maid of honor, and now, looking at it for the first time, I gasped softly.

Rather than white frosting my mother had chosen a pale peach color – nearly the same one as the dress I was wearing – and instead of buttercream flowers, the three tiers were decorated with real wildflowers and ribbon. Simple. Tasteful. Elegant. All the words I always associated with Mom.

I felt the air change behind me, felt warmth as my date for the evening stepped into my personal space and slipped his arm around my waist, drawing me backwards against his body. "It was sweet of you to dance with my grandmother," I told him.

"She informed me that I should call her Nonna, and asked when we would be 'making things official,'" Data said softly.

"Please tell me you didn't give her a date?"

"No," he affirmed. "I would not do so when you and I have only just begun speaking of marriage as an eventual likelihood."

"Does it take any pressure off you," I wondered aloud, "when you pretty much know what my answer will be?"

I felt, rather than heard, the slight movement of his mouth that meant he was going to respond – probably by telling me that he couldn't feel pressure – but then my mother and my new stepfather were placing their hands on the handle of the knife – a ceremonial blade big enough for pictures – and making the first slice into the cake.

Ed was the one who actually moved their small piece of the confection onto a plate, and held it between them. Each took a cube. Mom fed hers to Ed, and he placed his in her mouth in return. There was a moment while they chewed and swallowed, and then their lips met in a chaste kiss and everyone applauded.

"I am curious, Zoe," Data began once the applause subsided and we had returned to our seats at the head table – Nonna and Ed's mother, Elaine, had insisted that it was their job to serve the cake, with the boys as runners. "Is there a specific meaning behind the bride and groom feeding each other?"

I smiled at him. "You're the research guru, lover-mine. You tell me."

"Accessing…" his eyes began their signature birdlike flicker.

I touched his arm, interrupting. "Maybe not right this minute?"

 **(=A=)**

 _Roughly three years later._

 _The Inn at the Presidio_

 _San Francisco, California_

 _Earth_

It was three days before our wedding, and Geordi was the last of our guests to linger in the suite Data and I were sharing. As we'd been cohabitating (my fiancé's word) since I was seventeen, spending nights apart seemed silly, especially since rooms at the Inn at the Presidio were at a premium.

As best man, Geordi had been involved in much of the planning, and we were filling him in on some of the final arrangements.

"In my study of human matrimonial traditions," Data began, as he brought a tray with a pot of mint tea and three cups from the replicator to the coffee table, "I have learned that the tradition of the newlywed couple feeding one another cake comes from an ancient Roman tradition of pressing wheat kernels into small loaves and crumbling them over the bride's head as a fertility blessing."

"No," I said, before Geordi could ask anything.

"Zoe?" Data joined me on the couch.

"Do you know how much work went into my dress? How much it cost? It's hand-beaded silk-velvet. No one is crumbling anything over, under, or anywhere around me."

"I was not suggesting that they would," Data assured me in the tone of voice he'd calculated was the most likely to soothe everything from high-strung Ferengi daimons to angry Antican soldiers to one nervous bride. "However, I believe we should honor that tradition in spirit."

"You want to feed each other cake." It was _not_ a question.

"Yes."

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"You think you're the only one with a long memory? You've been stewing about this cake-thing since Mom and Ed got married. So, yes. Fine. We'll feed each other cake. Small pieces. No smashing it each other's faces. No sticky frosting kisses in front of people." I favored him with a wicked smile. "After all, Basil _darling_ , it's also meant as a promise that we'll nourish each other."

"Who's Basil?" The question came from Geordi.

"He is," I said, glancing at the man I was going to marry in a few days, and then nearly losing the ability to breathe. Again.

But Data elaborated, "It refers to Basil Rathbone, who was known for rather… stilted… performances as Sherlock Holmes. It is also what my beloved calls me when she is annoyed with my behavior."

"Not always," I clarified. I directed my next words to our rather amused guest. "Sometimes I call him Basil when he's being particularly pompous or pedantic." I sat back a little, wrapping my hand through the handle of my teacup. "By the way, I've decided I don't want anyone giving me away."

"Because you do not wish to choose between your father and Ed?" Data's question was laced with understanding.

"No. Because it's a leftover tradition from when women were chattel, and marriages were mere business transactions. Besides, you had to suffer through a hearing to establish that you aren't property. To include a tradition implying that I am… it sets a dangerous precedent."

For a moment, Data looked as though he wanted to refute my assertion. Once we realized we had no choice but to have a very public wedding – a _society_ wedding – a formal-dress-uniform wedding at the Chapel of Our Lady in the heart of the Presidio base that served as Starfleet HQ – my android partner had embraced all the trappings and traditions of such events.

I, on the other hand, was still trying to figure out if I could wear my ancient purple combat boots under that expensive silk-velvet gown.

But no rebuttal was forthcoming.

Instead, Data tilted his head slightly forward, and lowered his voice to tell me, "As you wish, dear." That tone, and the accompanying smirk, were his version of "Basil," used when I was being frustratingly stubborn.

The smirk dissolved almost instantly, as we met each other's eyes and the mood in the room made a palpable shift.

"Alright, you two, keep your clothes on. I'm leaving." Chuckling, Geordi set down his cup, left his chair, and exited the room, though I saw him pause long enough to engage the 'do not disturb' indicator before he let the heavy oak door close behind him.

We weren't quite as bad as our friend believed, though. We waited until we'd cleaned up all the leftover plates and tea things from the impromptu party before we relocated to the plush bed with the seventeen (I counted) pillows.

Our love-making wasn't exactly sweet and tender, but it wasn't exactly rough and wild, either. It was just… just us… connecting. _Communing._

Afterward, sated and sleepy and lying with my head on my soon-to-be husband's shoulder, I lifted my left hand watching the diamond in my engagement ring twinkle when I twisted my wrist this way and that. I smiled softly, and let my hand come to rest on his chest. Then I murmured, "Data… we're getting married."

"Yes Zoe," he agreed, turning his head slightly and kissing the top of my head. "We are." His tone was a mixture of wonder and reverence colored with a note of it-is-about-time-you-caught-up.

I closed my eyes, pushed away the little bits of remaining worry, and let the _thrum_ of his internal systems lull me to sleep.

* * *

 **Notes:** This came out of a chat session with **ReLive4Love** , who was adamant that Data needed to comment on the tradition of the bride and groom feeding each other cake at Emily and Ed's wedding. Information about the tradition of cake-feeding is from The Knot, and is likely not historically accurate, but for purposes of this story, I used it anyway. (Lal doesn't actually mean 'beloved' in ANY known language, so if Data can be wrong about that…) This was actually written on 8 April 2016, when I was supposed to be working on chapter 4 of _Unaccompanied: A Suite for Actress and Android._ I'm posting it now because y'all deserve something sweet and fluffy while I work on the last half of that same story. While the date of their wedding is not (yet) fixed in stone, I know approximately when it will be, and what they have to do to get there.


End file.
